


Soldiers Walking Off the Deep End

by glorious_spoon



Series: A Story Never Told [1]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Angst, F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-13
Updated: 2019-08-13
Packaged: 2020-08-20 10:01:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20226010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glorious_spoon/pseuds/glorious_spoon
Summary: This is the third night in a row that she’s woken in the small hours of the morning to an empty bed.





	Soldiers Walking Off the Deep End

**Author's Note:**

> This won't make much sense without reading the prior works in the series, but to sum up: Jace and Alec are caught up in a fuck-or-die scenario. They comply, but they're both pretty traumatized. This is the aftermath. The assault isn't explicitly referenced in this fic, but that's the backstory of what's going on here. Read with that in mind.
> 
> I have one more longer fic currently planned in this series, but given my other commitments it'll probably be a while before it's up.

Clary rolls over, reaching half-consciously for Jace’s warmth, and finds only an empty mattress. The sheets are cool and rumpled beneath her palm. She lifts her head, blinking at the dark room, feels something cold settle in the pit of her stomach when she finds it empty.

It’s not that unusual for Jace to slip out of bed in the middle of the night. Nightmares are more common than not among shadowhunters. There’s a reason that the kitchen is open 24/7 and no matter what time it is, someone can usually be found in the training room or the library or the commissary, a whole Institute shouldering the burden of shared trauma and chronic insomnia. It’s something that people born into this life don’t generally talk about, and Jace is no exception.

But this is the third night in a row that she’s woken in the small hours of the morning to an empty bed.

Clary pushes herself upright, kicks the blankets off. The floor is cold against her bare feet, the air chilly. It’s always so damn cold here, which isn’t a problem when she has a giant sleepy furnace of a shadowhunter boyfriend to keep her warm. It kinda sucks right now, though. She pulls her jeans on, slides her feet into her slippers, tugs a hoodie over her head. It helps, but she still feels chilled as she slips out of the room into the dim hallway. It’s only partly because of the temperature.

As expected, she finds Jace in the training room, beating the shit out of the heavy bag. His hair is tangled, his body a frenetic blur of motion. He hasn’t wrapped his hands, and his split knuckles are leaving bloody smears on the blue vinyl surface. He’s breathing raggedly, loud and rough, and that’s the only sound other than his fists as they make contact with the weighted bag.

Clary swallows hard and forces herself to come to a stop well outside his range of motion. She doesn’t actually think he’ll take a swing at her if she touches him unexpectedly, but she’s not sure enough to risk it, either. Mostly for his sake, to be honest.

“Jace,” she says quietly.

He doesn’t jerk or startle at the sound of his name. He pauses, grips the bag to stop its swing, then leans his forehead against it without turning toward her. When he speaks, his voice is thick, like he’s been crying. “You should be in bed.”

“So should you,” Clary says softly, stepping closer. She rests a hand carefully on his shoulder, and doesn’t miss the shudder that passes through him at her touch. It makes that cold thing in the pit of her stomach go leaden. Jace steps away as he turns back toward her, and she curls her fingers inward and doesn’t try to follow.

His eyes are red and puffy in a way that she’s pretty sure isn’t from exhaustion. “Couldn’t sleep.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asks carefully.

Jace shakes his head, a sharp, jerky little motion, swallows twice. “I can’t.”

_You can tell me,_ Clary thinks. _Please tell me._

It’s her instinct to push. That’s always been her instinct, and she knows that if she did, Jace would probably tell her exactly what happened to him and Alec in the hours that she and Magnus spent fruitlessly trying to break out of that stifling little cell. 

It’s Magnus she’s thinking of. Magnus and his barely restrained panic in the cell, and the way he just went--still, cold and deadly in a way she’s almost never seen, when Alec and Jace came to let them out.

Magnus knew right away. She doesn’t know how, but he did. And there’s a part of her that’s wildly curious, but Jace’s red eyes and trembling hands, the memory of his ashen face, the way Alec jerked away from him afterward instead of leaning into his hands like he’s done every time Jace has reached for him for as long as Clary has known them both—

Yeah. She’s not so sure she wants to know at all, and she’s pretty damn sure that she’s not going to push this one either way.

Jace is still staring at her, wary and tense like he’s braced for a blow. Clary reaches out carefully, leaving space for him to meet her halfway if he wants to. 

“Hey,” she says. “You want to go see if they still have hot chocolate in the mess hall?”

Jace blinks like that’s the last thing in the world he was expecting her to say, and then he lets out a soft breath that sounds like it’s trying to be a laugh and places his battered left hand in hers. His knuckles are split and swollen, starting to bruise. She wants to sit him down on one of the benches and pull out her stele to heal them, but instead she just holds on.

“Yeah,” Jace says finally. He clears his throat, and his voice sounds almost normal. “Yeah, okay. Let’s do that.”


End file.
